We have breakfast at the Inn. Mandy cannot get enough of the jams made
right here by Annmarie, the owner. The
raspberry explodes with fresh berries, sweet and tangy. The peach is mellow and sweet and Mandy is
delighted every time she finds a big piece of fruit like a Crackerjack
prize. Some goes in our fresh made
yogurt. Some on those big flaky
croissants. Some more to compliment the
selection of local cheese. All with a
big pot of strong brewed coffee and we’re some happy campers. (Can
you tell I’m writing this on an empty stomach?)
Across the street and through the wall and it’s time to see
more of Beaune. It’s Thursday. Market
day, but the on-again-off-again rain has kept some of the vendors away. We’re magnetically drawn to the husband and
wife team, he selling olives, she the cheese.
We’re encouraged to sample and realize this is gonna be a foodie
day. The big plump olives are in several
different preparations, and our favorites are the spicy mix and the garlic
Kalamata. He suggests the tapenades, and
when giving me a big scoop of the garlic tapenade, he looks at Mandy and says
“no kiss!” She still cannot believe any
self-respecting Frenchman would do anything to discourage kissing. The generous cheese samples come next. We pick a two-year and a three-year, one aged
sharp and the other aged creamy and salty.
The next vendor has a remarkable selection of charcuterie. We order 100g (about a quarter pound) of his
signature cured hard sausage and some sun-dried tomatoes. We wander through the shops in town and find
the patisserie. We order the 0.90€
baguette, long and crispy, with a pillowy interior. Best buck we spent in Europe. The clerk takes the loaf sets it diagonally
on a sheet of waxy paper, grabs two corners and, with a quick twist and a
“viola!” (pronounced “wa lah!”) hands us bread perfectly wrapped in a bow. The French have such a simple way of making
everything so… so… French!
We head out to explore more of the Burgundy region, this
time south of Beaune. We head toward
Santenay to find Trois Croix. We explore
the villages along the way and when we get close, Mandy puts “Trois Croix” into
Google Maps. We know it’s at the top of
the mountain, and the GPS starts us upwards.
Things get very familiar when the pavement ends and the little rocks
turn to big rocks. Although my respect
for the little SUV has grown with each adventure, it still loses purchase on
the big, course shale. The tight
switchbacks are especially challenging as we lose all momentum in the tight
turn, then chunking big stones into the underside of the rental when we
accelerate again. Mandy is having as
little fun this time as she had the last time, white knuckling the oh-shit
handle. But the GPS in her left hand
keeps directing us up. We stop when we
see the big Charolais in the field beside what’s left of the steep trail. The big white horned cows are raised for
meat, and these four laying and grazing and wondering what the hell our Fiat is
doing here. We take a break and some
pictures. Mandy catches her breath and
we decide to head back down, shut the damn GPS off and just follow the French
road signs. Like hiking, downhill,
although assisted by gravity, tends to be the tougher half of the trip. Same tight, rocky turns, same lack of
traction, but now if I take one a little wide there’s the added attraction of
the 1000 vertical foot drop. One hand on
the wheel, one on the shifter, one trying to keep Mandy’s heart in her
chest. Back on the paved road, we follow
the signs (and the pavement) all the way to the parking area at the top of the
mountain. We really shouldn’t overthink
these things.
We walk the last steep two hundred yard to Trois Croix. Three Crosses, 25 feet tall each, overlooking
the valley bestowing their blessing and protection. It’s a dramatic installation and the fast
moving clouds make it even more so.
There are a few groups of hikers up here carrying big bright colored packs. We find a sturdy, table-height half round
sign that will be the perfect place for our picnic lunch, offering great views
and a flat surface. As we unpack the
olives, bread, cheese and wine, one of the hikers walks by starting his dissent
and greets us with a hearty “bon appetit!”
The wind is blowing, the clouds rolling by, the wine is flowing, and the
360 degree views of the vineyards and villages are astounding. We roughly rip the bread and take turns
making new combinations with our gourmet ingredients. If you’ve ever had the “best meal ever”
discussion, you know it’s not just the food, but the entire situation around
the food. This is definitely top
10.
On the way back to Beaune, we stop to see a still working windmill, the kind I associate with Amsterdam, not France. We head on to Chateau de la Rochepot, a castle overlooking the village of the same name. It’s beautiful and picturesque and we are, quite frankly, burnt out on the whole castle thing. We walk around the grounds for a few minutes, take a few pictures and decide what we really want to do… nap and hang out at the inn for a while. It’s a nice way to spend a late afternoon on vacation.
Two weeks is a long vacation, and eating out constantly can
become too much. We did really good in
that department. Until Beaune. Traditional French is delicious, but
rib-stickingly heavy. Even on a foodie
day like today, we need simple for dinner.
We go to Brasserie La Carnot for a salad and a thin crust pizza. Sitting in the sidewalk café, we see Lara and
Jason, the couple from Denver from last night.
We make plans to meet up after dinner.
We connect in the square about 10:30 and look for place for a
drink. We figure we’ll give Les
Coulisses Beaune a try because the sign and doorway looked cool. Inside the doorway, we head down a hallway to
a narrow set of steps down. We walk into
an amazingly trendy hip bar lounge space.
A wine cave reimagined into speakeasy, the low arched ceilings lend an
intimacy to the place, and the vintage pop music and hidden lighting glow give
everything a super cool vibe. Groups of
stylish 20-somethings, thin and beautiful, couples huddled intimately at corner
tables. I wouldn’t be surprised if a
liquor commercial broke out. We’re
home. One of the two guys behind the bar
comes over to take our order. Missing
home and the American bar scene, Mandy orders a Jack, rocks on the side. I order a Goose martini, but no Goose. After some ribbing about this being the only
decent bar in all of France and not having THE essential French vodka (OK, THE
essential vodka, period) we take a recommendation for some Russian brand we
have never heard of. We spend the
evening talking life, food, drink, work and travel with Lara and Jason, sipping
and laughing. As the hour gets later we
are talking to the barmen more, too. We
learn that they are the owners and have recently opened after a year long
renovation. Super nice guys working hard
to achieve their vision. Around 1:30 We
finally hit the wall, in this case, the curved fieldstone wall. Some selfies to commemorate the night and
we’re buzzily off to bed.
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